


you're too close and you know it too

by adelaidebabe



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hunter Stiles Stilinski, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28515270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelaidebabe/pseuds/adelaidebabe
Summary: “‘Please, stop pretending to care about me when I know that you don’t.’The words out of Scott’s mouth are like a gut-punch to Stiles.It’s not that he doesn’t deserve them; it’s not that he thinks Scott is out of line. He’s not. He absolutely has a right and reason to be feeling that, to say that. And maybe a month ago, it would’ve been true. A month ago, before Stiles really knew Scott, Scott could’ve said that and it wouldn’t have bothered Stiles.”or: the classic teen wolf au where stiles is a hunter
Relationships: Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	you're too close and you know it too

**Author's Note:**

> so!! this is actually because, a while ago, i reblogged a prompt post and i was asked to do #3 (“Please, stop pretending to care about me when I know you don’t.”) and/or #7 (“It’s because I’m too selfish with you.”) for any pairing/fandom i wanted. and i'm trying to put more sciles out into the world now, so! sciles it is :)
> 
> i used both prompts in this. i never thought i'd write hunter!stiles but it made the most sense to me for the prompts and it's always good to step out of your comfort zone a little. as always this is unbeta'd, and i hope you enjoy!

“Please, stop pretending to care about me when I know that you don’t.”

The words out of Scott’s mouth are like a gut-punch to Stiles.

It’s not that he doesn’t deserve them; it’s not that he thinks Scott is out of line. He’s not. He absolutely has a right and reason to be feeling that, to say that. And maybe a month ago, it would’ve been true. A month ago, before Stiles really _knew_ Scott, Scott could’ve said that and it wouldn’t have bothered Stiles.

Because a month ago, Scott was just someone he knew as a kid, just another random werewolf. Randomly meeting him again, at some random community college no less, was not on purpose. But Stiles had heard through the grapevine about Scott McCall of the McCall pack. He had heard how this one werewolf made lifelong hunters reject their families. How he became an Alpha through his own sheer will. He’d heard things.

It was strange, though, when Stiles first heard the name—the little twinge of familiarity.

And it wasn’t like he had ever planned on going after him; the grapevine has also made it clear that the McCall pack is not one to mess with alone. But then the opportunity arose; who was Stiles to reject destiny?

But now. Now, looking at Scott as he hisses in pain from a wolfsbane bullet; now, watching Scott as he doesn’t allow Stiles to get close to him to help; now, it’s different. He would say he’s different, but he’s not really, is he? He still wants to kill werewolves. He still wants to extinguish their entire supernatural species, just like how they extinguished the only family he had left.

Just not this one.

Because it’s Scott. Scott McCall, who is kind and heroic and unbiased and unproblematic. He doesn’t kill people; actively tries to not kill anyone—even hunters. It’s hard for Stiles to wrap his head around. He’s never met a werewolf like him before. Could there be more? More like Scott?

Is what he’d devoted his life to doing wrong?

“Scott,” Stiles says, almost haltingly. He brings a hand up again and Scott eyes it warily, untrusting.

Stiles puts his hand back down.

Yeah. He deserves that.

Because he let himself get close to Scott; having gone so long without family, without friends, just focused on killing and killing and killing. When they ran into each other—literally ran into each other—Scott had recognized him instantly. Remembered him from their short time together at Beacon Hills elementary. And without missing a beat, Scott wanted to resume that friendship.

Stiles still doesn’t know why.

And he doesn’t know why he went with it. Maybe he was just lonely. Absolutely desperate for some human connection, and Scott was willing. They had been friends before, maybe that’s why it wasn’t hard to fall together. Stiles had tried to ignore the guilt in his chest and stomach that bubbled up every time he saw Scott, every time they played video games, every time they went to get pizza and work on homework and watch movies and talk on the phone late at night.

They got close. Too close. So close. Close in a way that Stiles began to think he might’ve been falling for him. So he tried to pull away, he really, truly did, but.

(There’s not really any excuse except Stiles didn’t want to. He couldn’t bear it. Werewolf or not, he cares about Scott too much.)

And that’s when the worst happened. Scott got cornered by a group of hunters when he and Stiles were meant to meet for pizza, and Stiles was able to track where the hunters had cornered him, and. And.

“Hey, Stilinski!”

And the hunters had recognized him.

Scott’s face had morphed from a horrifying panic when he saw Stiles to the worst kicked puppy look when the hunters called his name. Stiles hated it. Hated that it was his fault.

But he could fix it; he could.

So he played along. Buddied up to the hunters because getting their guard down would make it so much easier, and then he took them down, quick as anything. They weren’t expecting it and they weren’t as good as him; he had to be the best, growing up alone and training alone and just being _alone_. Being with Scott was the first time he wasn’t.

So it was over. Done with. Except Scott won’t let him help him.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles rasps. He clears his throat. He doesn’t know when the tightness started, but he doesn’t have time for it. “Scott, I’m sorry.”

Scott has a hand covering his arm, where the bullet is, but he doesn’t move. His feet are bare for some reason and there’s dirt on his face and there’s blood on his hands and his hair is wild. He doesn’t look like the super powerful Alpha werewolf all the hunters talk about; he just looks like a young college kid. Alone. Afraid. Betrayed.

“Scott, please let me help you.”

“Why, so you can put a bullet in my head when it’s more convenient for you?”

Stiles flinches. A full body flinch. Scott’s eyes hold a second of regret, but then it clears again and they’re back to the distrust and betrayal.

Stiles swallows hard and moves away to get a bullet from one of the dead hunters. He’s going to help Scott. He’s going to prove himself.

But he’ll also respect Scott’s boundaries to do it. So he uses the hunters’ tools and cracks open the bullet to get the wolfsbane inside before also grabbing a lighter, and then offers that to Scott. He keeps as much distance as he can, reaching out his full arm’s length.

Scott doesn’t move for a long while, and Stiles begins to worry. Scott no longer trusts him so much so that he’s going to die from a simple wolfsbane bullet. It’s frustrating and it’s panic-inducing because Stiles can’t do this. He can’t lose another person. Not when he can actually _help_ them.

“Fuck, Scott, please,” Stiles begs. His hands are beginning to shake.

Scott moves slow, but he moves; he grabs the bullet and lighter from Stiles’s hands and sets about fixing himself. The relief is so strong that Stiles finds himself no longer able to keep standing, his legs faltering as he allows himself to just collapse. Scott glances at him, but doesn’t stop what he’s doing. Which is good. It’s good. Because Stiles just wants Scott to be okay, and then Scott can leave him. Scott can leave him. It’s okay. Knowing he’s still alive is enough. Will be enough. It’s okay.

He doesn’t notice, not until he makes noise, but he’s crying. No, not crying. He’s sobbing; awful, horrible sobs that hurt his chest and his lungs. He pulls his legs up to his chest and lets it out, trying hard to muffle his sounds into his jean-covered knees. Scott almost _died_. If Stiles were any later or even just a little less trained, Scott would be dead. The relief that he’s not is exactly why Stiles is crying, the adrenaline long gone. He’s drained. He’s tired. He’s sobbing.

Eventually, he quiets down. His breathing is still hitching, but it feels like the worst has passed. He wipes at his eyes, to clear them so he can look at Scott—if Scott’s is still there.

He is. He’s looking at Stiles, his eyes—his expression—unreadable. He’s not doing anything else but also sitting on the ground. The wound on his arm is hardly there anymore. He’s alive. Definitely alive.

And now Stiles is going to lose him.

He told himself it was okay, but it’s not. He will never trust him again. Scott knows who is, can assume what he’s done, and Scott’s going to leave him.

It’s enough to make him want to cry again, but he won’t. That’s for later. When he’s alone. Again.

Scott won’t stop looking at him.

Stiles turns his face away from Scott, wiping his eyes on his hoodie sleeves again before tucking his head back onto his knees. He stares off to the side, unseeing. “What?” he whispers. It doesn’t matter. He knows Scott will hear him.

There’s a pause. “I don’t know,” Scott says. His voice is neutral. Stiles fights the urge to cry.

“You should go home, Scott,” he says. “Go home and sleep and don’t worry about this. Them. The hunters. I can take care of it. I’ll make sure the others don’t think you’re involved. And I’ll go.”

“Go?”

Stiles closes his eyes tightly. He breathes deep a couple times to keep it together. “Yeah.” His throat feels raw. “Yeah, I’ll go.”

“Go where?”

Now Stiles can hear actual genuine confusion in Scott’s voice. It makes him lift his head, focus his eyes back on Scott. His face is still unreadable but it’s cracking a little.

“I, uh, I don’t know,” Stiles says. He tries to make eye contact with Scott, but then looks away as soon as they do. “Maybe north or something. Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?” Scott repeats.

Stiles forces a laugh. “Did you turn into a parrot? I feel like you’re just repeating me.”

Scott doesn’t laugh. He would’ve. Before.

Stiles tries not to think about it.

“You have classes, though, don’t you?” Scott asks. “You’re a student here.” More confusion. He’s making Stiles confused.

“I mean, yeah? But that doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?”

“Jesus, Scott,” Stiles laughs softly, and this time it’s a little real. He clears his throat. “Yeah, it doesn’t matter. I’ll pull myself out, go somewhere else. Don’t worry about it.”

Scott doesn’t say anything. Stiles begins to think that he’s going to leave, which is good because he should. He should go home, go back to his dorm so he can shower and sleep and forget the last month ever happened. God knows Stiles is going to be working on that for years.

And then Scott asks, “Did you know?” and Stiles feels his stomach drop.

“Know what? About the hunters? No.”

“Did you know about me?”

Stiles licks his lips. He opens his mouth. Closes it. He sighs, and then pushes his palms into his eyes. “Fuck,” he mutters.

Scott takes that for an answer. “What were you waiting for?” he asks, and his voice is quiet and sad and borderline heartbroken, and it hurts Stiles.

“I wasn’t waiting for anything,” he says honestly. He hopes that Scott knows. “I wasn’t— I wasn’t planning anything, I wasn’t going to kill you, I-I.” He breathes out. “I don’t want to kill you, Scott.”

“Why?”

He licks his lips again. “Because you’re my friend,” he whispers. “You’re my friend and I didn’t want to kill you. Because I’m too selfish with you. I’ve been alone for a long time, Scott.” He lets out a humorless laugh. He can’t look at Scott. “I’ve been alone for so long, and then…and then I wasn’t. We were friends, and I think I might be starting to fall in love with you, but that doesn’t even matter. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Scott.”

There’s silence again. It’s longer than before, Stiles refusing to look at Scott, picking at the frayed ends of his jeans. The urge to cry is gone, though, for now. He doesn’t know what else to say, if he can say anything at all. If anything matters. He’s so sure that Scott’s going to leave. Why wouldn’t he? He probably just needs time to get his strength back and that’s why he hasn’t left yet. He probably just wants some answers from Stiles—answers Stiles is more than willing to give.

Scott sighs. “I guess there isn’t really a good time to tell someone that, right?”

Stiles jerks his head up so quick he’s almost nervous that he snapped it. “What?”

There’s a faint smile, a sad smile, dancing on Scott’s lips. “There’s not a good time to tell your werewolf friend that you’re a hunter. I mean, there wasn’t a good time for me to tell you about myself, either.” There’s humor lacing his words; Stiles tries desperately to not get his hopes up. “Stiles,” Scott starts and then stops.

Stiles naws on his lower lip, a nervous habit he hasn’t had in a long time. He just makes a, “Hmm?” sound. Because he’s scared. And he’s nervous. Desperate. Terrified.

“I don’t…I don’t forgive you, exactly,” he says carefully. Stiles keeps holding on, ignoring the pain of those words. “But I want to. I really, really want to.”

“Do you think you can? Some day?”

Scott considers it, and eventually nods. “Maybe. I think so. Because I like you, too, Stiles. Like, I was going to ask you out for real after tonight.” He laughs a little. “The timing, fuck.”

The urge to cry is back again. Stiles isn’t sure why. God, what happened to him? What happened to the hunter that killed werewolves without flinching? When did he turn into this sobbing, needy mess; sad and lonely and craving just a little bit of affection from his werewolf of a friend?

He doesn’t even care, though, and maybe that’s the worst part. He doesn’t even care about hunting, hasn’t in about a month. He should’ve listened to that grapevine rumor about Scott; about how he made hunters give it up. He should’ve known.

But he doesn’t care.

“I’ve never really had good timing in my life,” Stiles says. He lets go of his legs, lets them stretch out. His feet are maybe only half a foot away from Scott. And Scott doesn’t react; Stiles will count that as a win.

“I don’t know,” Scott says, considering. “I think you had pretty good timing tonight. I wasn’t prepared; I don’t know that I would’ve survived.”

Stiles’s throat is tight again. “Then thank God for that.”

Scott hums and stands up. He walks over to Stiles and takes a second before offering his hand out. Stiles takes it gratefully, allowing Scott to pull him up. Neither of them move away, though, and Stiles is standing so very close to Scott. They don’t let go of each other’s hands, either.

They just stand there for a moment, eyes locked on each other. Stiles isn’t sure he’s breathing; he’s too nervous.

Scott uses the hand holding Stiles’s to pull him closer for a hug, a hug Stiles sinks into. He’s trembling a little. He didn’t even notice when that happened. But Scott’s hugging him and Scott likes him and Scott at least wants to be his friend still and he wants to trust him and forgive him, and it’s more—so much more—than Stiles could’ve wished for.

Scott presses a soft, quick kiss to Stiles’s cheek before he pulls away. He keeps their hands connected, though. “Come back with me to my dorm?” he asks.

“I would’ve even if you hadn’t asked,” Stiles admits. “Just to. Just to make sure.”

Scott’s gaze softens.

Before they leave, Stiles glances at the hunters. “Shit.”

“Yeah?”

“I have to take care of this,” Stiles says, using the hand not in Scott’s to gesture.

Scott squeezes his hand. “I don’t think anyone will look for them tonight. Or find them. We can do something tomorrow.”

“You mean I’ll do something.”

“I said we, I mean we, Stiles. It can be a trust-building exercise.”

That startles a real laugh out of Stiles. “The classic, bury-the-dead-bodies-of-hunters trust exercise? Scott McCall, you Casanova.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Scott says with a laugh. He pulls him again.

It doesn’t take much effort because Stiles knows he’ll go wherever Scott is. There’s no question. He’ll get his trust back, he’ll protect him, and he’ll go where Scott is. Like he thought a month ago, who was he to reject destiny?

**Author's Note:**

> title from complicated by heavens to betsy & i'm on tumblr @ [stilesscott](http://stilesscott.tumblr.com/)


End file.
